


Sakura Seeds

by meltypes



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 09:33:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17241821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meltypes/pseuds/meltypes
Summary: His existence was unforgivable. However, when he was with Jesse McCree, Hanzo hated himself just a little less- and a new seed blossomed in his heart, one he believed in and one he had hoped for all his life.





	Sakura Seeds

**Author's Note:**

> short fic for a bigger fic idea i never found the inpso to outline and write rip  
> (also i posted this before under a different name but i deleted that so lol)

  


Hanzo Shimada hated himself.

That much was obvious.

He hated himself as he trained, the muscles on his arms and back straining until they cascaded tears of sweat, until his entire body burned and ached for rest. He hated himself while he ate, the simple pleasure of sweet and savory foods on his tongue only serving as a reminder of one other thing he had deprived his own kin from. He hated himself while he mediated, as if he could fool his brain into thinking that peace and quiet could erase the tumult in his mind and smooth over the jagged errors of his past.

His self hatred was apparent even on his countenance, his “RBF” as Genji had called it. Hanzo’s disgust for himself was soul deep, a seed that had planted itself in his heart since the first day his father had instructed him to murder in cold blood (“the master of the clan must protect the clan”) and had dug its claws deep the minute his blade had grazed Genji’s skin.  
His entire life was a culmination of all the wrong choices one could make, and it turned him into a bitter being, one that only survived out of the reasoning that even death was too honorable for him at that point.

His existence was unforgivable.

“You know I forgive you, Hanzo.”  
The brothers were seated on one of the many outlooks at the watchpoint staring at the sky, the sunset reflecting off of the younger, and irritating the older.

Hanzo only hummed in response. They were supposed to be meditating in silence, as per Hanzo’s request.

“I know why you come here.”

Hanzo exhaled through his nose and opened his eyes to glance at his brother. “To meditate, Genji. Shizukani.”

“No.” Genji turned to face him. “You come here in order to make yourself feel guilty. I know you, brother. You used to do it to me all the time when I went to the arcade. You would stare at me until I felt shame.”

Hanzo’s fists clenched on his knees. “How could you possibly know what I am doing or thinking? I have changed.”

“I know, because I am doing it as well,” Genji said softly. “Back then- I could have been more compliant, I could have helped you but I did not. I was young and stupid, and did not realize the gravity of my decisions, but I understand now. My actions were dishonorable. It was shameful of me-“

Hanzo stood up and turned on his brother, furious. “Do not. Speak to me of dishonor and shame.”

He walked a short distance then glanced back at his brother.

“Not until you have killed me for yourself.”

Later that evening, Hanzo messaged Genji that should he need to meditate, Zenyatta would most likely be available.

That had been the end of the their sessions.

He had been a fool to believe his brother could reconcile with him.

Genji still visited him, as Hanzo holed himself up in his room instead of socializing with the rest of the team- but that only ended in loud arguments.

“It has been weeks, Hanzo,” Genji stated exasperated, outside of his door. “How are they to know you if you do not allow them?”

“I am fine by myself,” Hanzo said.

“This is not healthy, Hanzo.”

Hanzo sighed. “I am perfectly healthy Genji.”

Genji threw his hands out. “You look like shit! You’re depressed and-“

Hanzo bristled, hand already reaching for his door. “Thank you for your concern, brother. Good bye.”

“Hanzo-!”

The door slid shut on the cyborgs face and Hanzo inhaled, exhaled, inhaled once more and breathed out.

Not healthy? Hanzo looked about his room. Healthy people had clean rooms, and his was pristine.

His closet held his various kyudo-gis, color coded. Organized.  
His small kitchenette held a shining kettle, small teacups and no dirty dishes. Clean.  
His bed was always made, not a pillow out of place, his furniture never covered in clothes and out of the way as always, orderly. His room looked brand-new, completely spartan.  
Nothing was worn down. Nothing was old or used or broken.  
It was clean. Healthy.  
It was as if no one had ever stepped foot in it before. As if no one lived in it at all.

Despite Hanzo’s fervor to abstain from socializing, that did not stop the others from coming up to him. Hanzo was out of his room to fill up his water container in the main kitchen, when one of the younger members had come up to him. They popped their gum in the awkward silence until-

“So...what’s your deal?”

Hanzo glanced at her confusedly, then turned back to his jug. If he remained silent, it was sure to deter her.

“Like- me and Lucio wanted to know since you’re like the base cryptid. We never see you until team simulations, and even then you’re only on defense so...you’re actually really good with a bow and arrow. Hey, can I call you Legolas?”

“What?” Hanzo blurted.

She smiled. “Y’know, that old fantasy series, he’s a meme because of those short guys and elf eyes and stuff.”

Hanzo felt himself soften. She was very similar to a younger man he once knew, one with green hair and bright eyes. “I believe they’re called Hobbits.”

“Hah! So you are a nerd! Lucio didn’t think so, but you look like someone who plays Pokémon. Actually, now that I think about it, you’ve got the whole samurai vibe going on too. Have you ever used a sword before?”

Hanzo mumbled no, then hastily escaped with a half empty jug.

Hana stood in the kitchen alone, a frown etched on her face.

The only other person that Hanzo conversed with aside from Genji was Dr. Zeigler- although, even then, that was less than desirable. He grabbed his sleeping pills and sighed when he realized the bottle was empty. Genji had annoyingly told the doctor not to give him more than a few days prescriptions at a time- not to deny that Hanzo had never thought of going out that way, but considering the fact that he was surrounded by those who risked their lives on the daily, it was extremely dishonorable.

Hanzo entered her office and she gave a strained smile, and he nodded in kind- the routine.

“Shimada-san, how can I help you?”

“I require another prescription, if you will,” he said placing the canister on her desk, making sure not to touch her. The first time she flinched when their hands touched had hurt him more than he was willing to admit.

“Of course.” She turned to grab a new prescription, placed it on the desk- but held and didn’t let go. “You know...Genji is concerned about you.”

Hanzo grunted in response, refusing to look at her.

“He says that you’re not...coping very well. From what he describes, it sounds as if you have depression, PTSD, perhaps even social anxiety-“

“Thank you, Doctor Zeigler, for the free consultation,” he interrupted coldly, looking at her with narrowed eyes. “But I am perfectly fine and would like to take my leave.”

Another strained smile, and she released the bottle. “Do come again, Shimada-san.”

And thus was Hanzo’s routine for months. The self-loathing, arguing with Genji, awkward and often tense food and water runs, picking up pills from the doctor. It went on for two months until-

“Howdy there.”

The cowboy had found Hanzo on his perch on the skywalk. He had come there to drink in peace after his fifteenth quarrel with Genji in two months.

Hanzo hummed.

McCree took a seat next to him and brought out his own flask. They drank in silence, the night air cold on Hanzo’s exposed skin. He was far too inebriated to be bothered by the gunslingers presence, and found himself actually drawn to his warmth.

Hanzo respected the American, despite his bluntness and overall...loud demeanor. He was a good shot, perhaps one to rival Hanzo, and he was tactically intelligent. More than once had the cowboy saved the team from dying due to his quick thinking and precise aiming.

More-so, he never approached Hanzo unwanted. He seemed to recognize when Hanzo was welcoming of a short conversation and when he was on the verge of seething rage.

An intelligent man. Warm. Hanzo subconsciously leant towards him, the alcohol getting the better of him.

“D’yknow the Deadlock gang?”

Hanzo grunted. “I am a former yakuza. What do you think?”

McCree chuckled. “Alright, alright. I may not look like it, but- I was their best asset. They used to call me,’The Undertaker.’”

“That does not surprise me. You are greatly skilled and smart.”

“O-oh. Well...” McCree coughed. “Anyways...I used to be real close to one of the members- his name was Jackie. J and J they used to call us, cause we were practically inseparable. Jackie was like my brother. I loved him.”

Hanzo turned to face McCree, slowly gaining an idea of where this was going. The gunslinger was looking down, fingers fiddling with his flask.

“Then I...I had to kill him. Turns out he was sellin’ information to Overwatch. Or maybe he was undercover. I don’t really remember. All I remember...”

McCree swallowed and he looked to Hanzo. “I remember feelin’ angry. Angry and sad and just- destroyed. And after he was gone all there was- there was nothing. I...felt empty.”

Hanzo’s heart seized. McCree looked away, pained.

“I kept askin’ myself, ‘how are you goin’ to go on now?’ I thought I was gone, gonna be empty forever. Then Overwatch found me and I decided that maybe I deserved a second chance. People believed in me. They saw me and saw hope.”

“Hope?” Hanzo murmured.

“Yeah,” McCree said, turning back to look Hanzo in the eye. “Hope that maybe even after a lifetime of all the wrong choices, one right choice can set you on the good path.”

Hanzo stared at him breathless. McCree’s eyes glinted in the moonlight, and then he noticed how close they were- their shoulders and thighs touching. Hanzo leant back, still transfixed on his bright eyes.

“Hope,” he repeated.

McCree nodded. He looked up at the stars and breathed deeply. “Come train with me tomorrow, archer. Ya won’t regret it.”

There started the deviation in Hanzo’s routine. For five mornings a week, the archer and sharpshooter trained together. They conversed about little things, favorite foods and drinks, then playfully argued when one named something that was distasteful to the other.

Hanzo’s self deprecating thoughts began to move away to make room for newer thoughts- one involving a tall man, red and flannel, bright brown eyes and a crooked smile.

Hanzo’s first real smile came during an intense training session. Both men were sweating profusely, challenging each other to see who could lift more. Of course, Hanzo prevailed- and Jesse cracked a joke at his own expense.

“Damn,” he breathed. “I’m pretty sure you could arm wrestle with Orisa and win with those beasts. Me? Can’t even lift Torb a couple of inches off the ground.”

His first real laugh had shown up during a team lunch. Hanzo had taken a seat by McCree and Genji, as he usually did, and said his thanks for the meal. Jesse pointed curiously at his food.

“‘S That wasabi?”

“Yes, it is.”

McCree snorted. “Weak shit. My hot sauce does more damage than that.”

“Is that so?” Hanzo raised a brow and gestured to his plate. “Why don’t you try some. You just need a small portion to see-“

“Don’t mind if I do,” McCree interrupted, spooning the entire portion into his mouth to Hanzo’s horror.

Genji winced from across the table and got up to get a glass of water. When he came back, he saw McCree red in the face, coughing, and Hanzo doubled over in laughter. The entire room laughed softly at the ridiculousness of the situation, and Genji felt a surge of happiness.

The first time Hanzo held hands with McCree was in their usual drinking spot on the skywalk. McCree had been blathering on about some old western movie when Hanzo moved his hand to cover the gunslingers.

McCree stopped talking immediately and looked down at their hands. Hanzo felt a surge of shame and slowly drew his hand away.

“I did not mean to-“

McCree gripped his hand before it could go any further, and gave him a bright smile.

“It ain’t no thing, darlin’.”

It was also the first time McCree had called him that.

Hanzo had opened up more. He did not feel so alone after meeting Jesse, no longer so isolated.

He began meditating with Genji again.

“You seem well, brother.”

Hanzo smiled softly. “Yes, I am.”

“It is because of McCree, is it not?”

“Partially,” he said. “I have come to realize that...one right choice can set me on the path of good. People believe in me. It would be a great dishonor to prove them wrong.” Genji lunged at him, hugging him close, and Hanzo was proud that he was able to hold in most of his tears.

Hana attacked him in the rec room a while later. “Yo, Samurai Legolas!”

He grunted not looking up, engrossed in an article written by Joel Morricone. “Do not bother me, Usagi. I am busy.”

It was quiet for a moment. Then-

“Did you just- what did you call me?”

“Usagi. It is the name of a popular anime heroine and also means rabbit. It is my nickname for you, since you seem adamant about mine. Trust me when I say it is an honorable one. Usagi was a powerful warrior, and also the cutest.” When he did not get a response, he looked up.

Hana was staring at him with wet eyes, and a huge smile. “I want to change mine for you.”

Hana now called him Big Bro every chance she got.  
  
When Hanzo turned in his sleeping pills, Doctor Zeigler looked at him in surprise.

“Are you sure, Shimada-san? You’re-“

“Perfectly healthy, Doctor Zeigler. And please, call me Hanzo.” He turned away from her, ears growing heated. “I have not needed them for...a while now.”

Angela’s eyes widened. “Oh! Oh, well,” she giggled,” alright then, Hanzo. Do come back again.”

“You believed in me.”

He and McCree were standing together in Hanzo’s room soaked, the rain pushing them from their usual spot.

McCree looked at him, and Hanzo’s heart stuttered. “I did. I used to be like you, back when I first joined so I understood. I still believe in you.”

Hanzo tentatively walked closer to him. “You had hope for me.”

McCree visibly swallowed and took his hat off, running his hand through his hair. “Yes. I still hope yo- still have hope for you, that is.”

Hanzo took a couple of more steps. “Why?”

McCree looked away. “I know a lost soul when I see one, s’all. Everyone deserves a second chance at redemption.”

They were nearly chest to chest now, and Hanzo had to strain his neck to look into his eyes. “You gave me hope. You have helped me to be better, and I...thank you, Jesse.”

Hanzo rested his head on McCree’s chest and Jesse’s arms came around him almost immediately, engulfing him in warmth despite their wet clothes. Jesse rested his chin on the archer’s head, and Hanzo nuzzled into his chest, face flaming and heart pounding.

“It ain’t no thing darlin’.”

Finally, after months of dancing, tripping and falling, McCree held Hanzo’s hands in his and grinned shyly.

“I really like you, darlin.’ Hope ya don’t mind that.”

Hanzo laughed and pulled McCree towards him. “I would hope that you do cowboy, considering we share the same bed.”

“I reckon people who like each other ought to kiss then, right?”

Hanzo’s face warmed and he leant up into Jesse’s space. “I believe that is how they express that, yes.”

McCree smiled and pressed his lips onto Hanzo’s, soft and sweet, the pull slow and languid. Hanzo nibbled on his lip and the kiss deepened, Jesse’s hands moving to bring Hanzo’s hips closer to his.

They separated to catch their breath and Jesse moved to Hanzo’s jaw.

“Ya know any other way people express how much they like each other, darlin’?”

Hanzo gasped a laugh, and gripped McCree’s shoulders as he kissed his neck.

“I am aware of a few, yes.”

McCree chuckled and nosed at Hanzo’s cheek. “Only a few? I got some evidence on my back that states otherwise.”

“Are you looking for more?” Hanzo smirked.

Jesse shivered and put his head on Hanzo’s shoulder. “What is it that ya always say? ‘The wolf marks his prey?’”

Hanzo flushed and smacked his shoulder. “Do not tease me, Jesse.”

McCree laughed, smiled at him, then gripped Hanzo’s hands, dragging him to their room.

Later, when both men were sated, they laid wrapped around each other, kissing lazily.

“Jesse,” Hanzo whispered, kissing under his ear.

“Yea, darlin’?”

“I love you.”

McCree shifted, laying on his side, Hanzo tucked into his chest. He leant his head on his elbow and dragged a hand down his lovers body. Hanzo shivered.

“It ain’t no thing, darlin’.”  
  
Hanzo let out a noise of protest, smacking his chest indignantly, and McCree laughed, wrapping his arms around him. He kissed his face repeatedly until Hanzo’s mouth met his, moving with intent, slow and hot.

“I love you too, Hanzo.”

Hanzo Shimada hated himself. Not as much as he used to, but the self doubt still lingered, the hatred a shriveled seed still present in his heart.

However, when he was with Jesse McCree, Hanzo hated himself just a little less- and a new seed blossomed in his heart, one he believed in and one he had hoped for all his life.

  



End file.
